OneSided Wonder
by D-Rider
Summary: Voldemort allows Harry to slip his grasp, again. However, later that evening, a strange message comes to Voldemort from an intersting aurgument that teaches him the reason things are how they are...


**Summary**: Lord Voldemort, his body has just recently come back to normal stature before meeting baby Harry Potter, and yet he managed to let him slip under his fingers once more. All of this leads to the Dark Lord to think of himself as a rising 5th year and wishes that he could have a chat with him. He ends up getting his wish. Set before OtP

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, though in a land far far away, he just might exist among us.

**One-Sided Wonder**

It was over; he, the Great and All Powerful Lord Voldemort had just came back to the way he was prior to failing to Harry Potter. He hadn't the time then, but after rampaging on to his followers of his defeat and sending them home (or at least away from his presence), he had to take a look at his newly constructed body. He looked at his long, bony structured fingers that seemed to have made the hottest pan turn into ice by touch; his smooth, scale like head that matched the texture of an actual snake. For the first time in 13 years, he was wearing a consistent pair of black, swooshy robes that was the bread and butter of a wizard who was up to no good.

But despite the fact that he was once again in a fully capable body that was able to do everything that he could have done 13 years ago, the Dark Lord was feeling ill; his greatest opponent that threatened to be _his _equal had escaped his grasps once more by the very object that was supposed to be his downfall in the first place. Three years ago, upon his dependence on Quirrel to suckle on unicorn blood, he not only failed in retrieving the Philosopher's Stone to create a body of his own with the side-prize of life eternal, but he was yet another weak, lifeless soul hiding in the depths of Albania to survive. Two years ago, one of his Horocrux's failed in its rise to give him power through his youth, to the likes of Harry Potter.

The positive points about tonight would have to be seeing the defenseless, poor Harry Potter against his father's grave, locking him within its grimful face and mighty scythe to prevent escape. The blood of that boy is now pulsing lividly within his own veins, the protection of his mother now giving him the ability to touch his very skin, and had no disadvantages to the one who brought him down. He still had it going good for him; his followers, though spineless and cowardly, still knew how to follow directions and do what they were told under his command.

His and his rival's wands locked together tonight, opening with it souls of individuals whom he had laid down within his own wand. Old man Frank, the Riddle Housekeeper, the Hufflepuff boy accompanying Harry to his doom, and even the boy's parents came out of his wand, and gave distractions to help him escape. It was sickening to him how a boy that young was able to survive so many times against he, who spent nearly two generations to get to the wizard capacity which he was at.

"Wormtail!" he said agitatedly. After looking at himself in a mirror for a short period of time, he walked into the living room, and took his seat among one of the old, squishy armchairs. Peter Pettigrew came into the room shortly.

"Y…yes my lord?" he quivered as he was careful approaching him.

"I want you to get hold of Lucius, and let him know to tell me everything he's got on his sister-in-law who's in Azkaban," he said curtly from the sofa. "The topic slipped my mind tonight after….bring me a tea as well," he said after a short pause.

"Yes my lord," answered Wormtail silently, and walked out, every muscle in his body shaking by his mere voice (minus the platinum hand he received as a gift). Voldemort continued to think silently to himself; the spare child that came out of his wand was extremely young, as well as Potter, whose magical ability had him being a fish that slipped back into the safe haven waters of Hogwarts. His eyes grew heavy as he continued to wire more connections into his head.

_"Potter defeated the sixteen year old me at age twelve; and the all powerful I at age 14. Is he truly stronger than I in terms of magical skill? I could warn myself not to mess with Harry Potter in my little soul ripping of my diary, but that has been reported destroyed as of late."_

A small noise smacked against Voldemort's ears. It was happening in four second intervals, as there'd be a smack, followed by silence, and another smack. Voldemort looked to his left. Standing there was a young man in a graying suit, with neatly pressed ebony hair, dark gray eyes, a green and silver tie, and a crest embroiled on the left chest of the blazer with a snake shaped into an "S". He had an apple, and was continuously tossing it into the air, followed by catching it purposefully with the loud smack.

Voldemort looked at the young man with tranquil curiosity; though he was more comfortable slouched on the couch lazily, he decided to sit up to meet his eyes. Even though he was looking at the ground, he shot them up when the dark lord looked to him. He looked at him with heavy disgust, and looked as if he took a step back.

"Grotesque," he muttered to himself, but loud enough to as Voldemort heard him.

"Hm…wasteful boy," said Voldemort to the young man in retaliation.

"This," answered the boy, he stopped tossing the apple following Voldemort's statement. "I'm not wasteful; how's tossing a fruit going to waste it?"

"Bruising it from the inside, taking the delicious and sweet characteristic from it, nonetheless playing with your food like a mere child, _Tom_!" he answered icily. Voldemort purposefully named the child by first name; he was aware it would make him upset. The ebony haired boy pocketed the apple in his blazer pocket, and gave a light chuckle.

"Don't…call…me…_Tom." _He said piercingly, and took a step towards him and shot him a nasty glare. But then, he looked as if he caught himself, and his face went back to normal, giving him a curt nod.

"Hm…that charm work of yours may work on the average teacher, but don't think that being boyish to me will form any type of sympathy or liking towards you," said Voldemort as he laid back and crossed his legs to form a Figure four.

"You mustn't need such boorish and rude behavior, sir; I'm only 14," he said. Though Voldemort knew this by once living in the actual body, anybody else could have spotted this out by his young, slightly deepening voice.

"I do for dealing with boring individuals such as yourself, little fourteen year old boy," said Voldemort. Tom was trying his hardest not to form a sour face, but it wasn't working to well for him.

"Did you call me…boring?!" asked Tom in disbelief.

"There have been other young men your age who wouldn't have me going to sleep," said Voldemort with a slight grin on his face. Tom continued to try not to do anything rash, but failed miserably when he turned to the nearby stool containing a lamp, and kicked it violently to the ground.

"You obviously don't know me, you revolting piece of a man!" shouted Tom while pointing. "I've got extraordinary magical talents, I'm passing every one of my classes taken at Hogwarts, others want to be around me by mere sight of me, and Tom is not my name!" he shouted. Voldemort paused for a minute, and didn't say anything to allow his younger version to get out all of his interjecting. He was amazed on how very similar he'd most likely have acted on somebody calling him "Tom" and "boring."

"And I'm supposed to…what exactly?" asked Voldemort's icy voice when he pipped up an answer. Tom stamped his foot, which gave an authoritative echo over the whole home.

"That snake that you're holding over there in the corner," said Tom a bit more softly. He shifted his eyes and saw Nagini slithering around like it was nobody's business. "_Come forth to me serpent of the repulsive individual who has called thou forth your own!" _said Tom. He said this out loud, but Voldemort knew that he wasn't talking normal English; hissing had occurred from under his tongue, and Nagini began to sliver over. "See, HA! I can communicate with snakes and they do whatever I tell them to! Beat that!" he interjected. Nagaini still slid over; however, when it reached Voldemort's foot, it began to sliver up on his legs, passed his hips, and went over its shoulders gently. Wormtail came into the room following this. He looked panic stricken, and looked at the two men inside.

"Is everything alright master; I've heard crashing and stamping and…"

"Parceltounge has, become more popular over the years in the wizarding world," said Voldemort as he began to pet Nagini. "As you can see, I've already called this snake my own, and the numbers suggest that 2 out of every 3 wizards can speak to snakes," he said. He turned his gaze over to Wormtail with a grin. Tom turned his gaze to him with a grimace.

"A hideous man whom just returned to power yet allowed a fourteen year old git escape death from you for a fourth time is trying to tell me that I'm not special?" asked Tom while stepping towards him. "That's right, I know about you; I know that you've failed in taking that one half-boy Harry Potter…"

"An immature, ignorant, wasteful fourteen year old boy is in my quarters telling me that he should be in tabloids on the mere fact that he thinks he's something special? Tom, you're in need of…"

"I'm NOT TOM!" the boy shouted angrily. "I'm coming up with a new name for me; an alias if you will. I plan to call myself a name that will one day be feared in all of those who speak it, and even those who dare think it, and you're tainting that name by allowing a mere boy slip you by luck?!" Tom's words raced through Voldemort like broomsticks; Harry Potter escaping him through luck? Why that's unheard of; Harry Potter was an extremely talented young wizard, just as he was at that age only…

"Luck?" asked Voldemort with curiosity.

"Obviously!" shouted Tom. "A baby who survived a killing curse because his mudblood mother decided that she'd rather die than have her child killed; that barrier producing magic destroyed most of what was left of you, when all he had to do was grasp your face for your downfall; a Sorting hat and a songbird coming from the aid of a crackpot old fool who should have bitten the dust years ago; this same child slipping your grasp on the fact that your wands discombobulated during the duel, and souls released from that error distracted you in letting Potter go away Scott free!" he said. "He is not like me; he's got nothing special with him, he is an ordinary boy who's lived his entire life getting help and having it all on accident," he finished.

Voldemort took in what the little him had just said; Harry Potter did seem to manage to live life because of the actual forces pitted against himself yet for Harry Potter. He was simply lucky for thirteen years; there was nobody that was his equal, he alone held all of the power he needed to.

"Lord Voldemort is a good name that I reckon you should try," said Voldemort to the younger version of him. Tom cocked an eyebrow and moved towards him once more.

"Where'd that come from?" he asked.

"It's rearranged from your name so that you don't need to walk around and be called Marvolo or Riddle. Those names sound pretty stupid to me too if you ask me," said Voldemort. There was a sort of airy feeling going on inside of him right now. "And stop being afraid of Dumbledore," he continued. Tom looked up at him with uncertainty.

"I'm not afraid f Dumbledore," he said while placing his hand into his pocket. He had a feeling that he was gripping onto his wand in his suit. A loud sweeping noise managed to fill the room, and with a sudden jerk, Lord Voldemort shot open his eyes, and looked around; there was no younger Tom Riddle around anymore, there was just Wormtail with a smoking glass of tea beside him, sweeping up a mess that looks like he caused.

"Wormtail, what have you done!?" shouted Voldemort to his, once again, quivering servant.

"I went to deliver this parcel to Lucius asking him about Belletrix, sir, and I tripped over the lamp stool and broke it!" he said while shaking. "I went to look for my wand to fix it, and I thought I could use your wand, but I didn't want to disturb you so I'm doing it all the muggle way," he said. Voldemort knew that he was telling the truth, but to inflict fear into him not to mess up again, he found something else wrong in his statement, and pointed his wand to him.

"Why are you_ owling _Lucius, when you can simply do it by Floopowder...!"

"You didn't enhance the fireplace to appear from somebody else's house first!" said Wormtail. "Had I done it now, you're cover could be blown to the Ministry," he said as he began to cry. Voldemort rolled his eyes and cut the urge he had to curse his servant. He pulled his wand out, waved it, and the fireplace shone orange for a minute before returning to its normal state."

"Grab the Malfoy's by Floo Powder; I'll ask you the questions to give to Lucius. I'm not placing my hands and knees on this filthy ground," said Voldemort. Peter did as he was told, and Voldemort placed a hand on his face once more as he began getting contact to them. It was all fake; for the past thirteen years, Harry had outshone the Dark Lord on several occasions, and gained even more hero status simply because he was gifted with coincidence living.

"_I swear, to myself, my father's grave, and to all of those who've been thick enough to stick with me; Harry Potter will die in this upcoming school year. We will need to scheme, but this will all end with Potter rotting in the ground on my triumph. I swear it…"_


End file.
